Born this Way
by Sparkly Bowtie
Summary: Being offered a place at a camp which helped people better understand their homosexuality seemed heaven sent to Kurt Hummel. Too bad that in reality, it wasn't, and led to him clutching an enemy's hand in terror, as they both tried to escape.


**Born this way**

Blimey, this whole concept seems a little bit morbid for a first fic, but oh well, we can't change anything now. So, I am Sparkly Bowtie, and this is "Born This Way," because if there's one thing I can't do, it's originality. I only really got into Glee a little while ago, but I still cried when Chris Colfer won the award at the Golden Globes. Having grown up with half my family being treated like s*** cause they're gay, it felt so good to someone as talented as Chris get an award, cause he really, really deserved it. Now I'm starting to sound a little stalkerish. Oops. Just saying: be proud and loud. Or whatever it is. I'm not really sure: I don't get out as much as I should.

**PLEASE READ: **I've read in a plot synopsis that Kurt returns to McKinley in "night of Neglect." I guess that that would make this AU then, because he's still at Dalton in this one

**Summary: **_Being offered a place at a camp which helped people better understand their homosexuality seemed heaven sent to Kurt Hummel. Too bad that in reality, it wasn't, and led to him clutching an enemy's hand in terror, as they both tried to escape._

**Warning: **Rated M, guys. For a reason. Some of this stuff actually happened.

_**Nobody ever did, or ever will, escape the consequences of his choices.**_

_**-**_**Alfred A. Montapert**

**Prologue**

The darkness was nearly absolute.

Leaves coated the muddy track, and the empty branches whistled in distaste as the breeze, weak as it was, slithered its way through the enclosed spaces. The single, glowing orb hung perfectly suspended in the sea of black, curling frolicking amongst the hundreds of tiny dots that winked in and out of existence, reminiscent of fire flies as they once fly amongst the oaks. For now there was only silence. Silence, and the quiet gurgle of the stream as it pushed and pulled its way through the undergrowth, down its well-worn trail of deep grooves and pebbles as smooth and pale as glass. The rippling remnants of the moon were shattered within the ever moving waters, closely resembling that of a white staircase leading to a drooping shrub. No animals stirred, for even the owl and rats seemed to hide within the black, hardly daring to breathe, as if the slightest movement would cause chaos, and tip the world from its precarious, quiet, balance of night.

Then, suddenly, a scream rang out, and it broke, falling apart as panting breaths tear from throats and hearts pound from chests in deep, drumming rhythm which speeds as adrenaline speeds through veins awash with blood. Stumbling and falling, footsteps lost from synch and tripping over leaves and shoelaces, roots and even another leg, before splashing through the stream, and ignoring the dampness that soon follows through the sock. Through the leaves, only some light was cast, showing a nose, a hand, terrified eyes as they sprint, never slowing, and always looking back, never daring to cease their stride, even for a second.

There are five, only five, conjoined by tangled fingers and wild hair, all clinging together, never letting go, despite the dragging, the tripping that this position brings forth. No words are spoken, for they all seem to understand the seriousness of their situation, the penalty for any unnecessary noise, though it is now clear that some are struggling to contain themselves. A twisted ankle flashes by, though the holder of said injury doesn't ever stop running, let alone wince in pain. They had come this far, after all.

Suddenly, a flash of white light through the trees, the roar of an engine, the rumble of thick wheels hitting tarmac, and the five freeze, before flattening themselves to the ground as the car flew past, its headlight cutting through the thick branches like a knife through warm butter. Sobbing commenced, though the sounds were immediately hushed, until the light vanishes and darkness enclosed yet again.

One stands, reaching out a hand to pull up another, a girl, whose skirt is ripped and torn across one side, revealing a bloody gash on one thigh, with hair tangled and falling over shoulders. He himself was dirty, with shorts and shirt smeared and stained heavily with brown and green, his cropped hair ridden with grass and particles of mud and dirt. Two more arise, a larger male this time, also filthy, and another girl, silent tears running down her face, and falling from her chin. The last remains on the ground for another minute before standing, brushing them down, and lifting their head to reveal a cap missing a large portion from the front and top. None are smiling, yet all seem relieved, before beginning to walk again, now much slower, and far more separate than before, the sense of urgency gone, though still boiling beneath the surface. Soft murmurs quickly ensue as the light begins to disappear as the bows thicken with wood and bark, and the words fall into nothing but whispers that are carried away by the wind.

Another scream sounds as the car pulls up behind them, and they begin to run away, harder and faster than before as the vehicle tears through the trees, its powerful beam catching them full on. The creek bed is destroyed it its wake, and the water floods through the tire tracks. A shriek and the five are running, running very, very fast, because they try so hard not to see the figures hanging out of the car, yelling at them to stop, but they ignore them, sprinting harder.

Stiches building, hard and painful in stomachs, and a girl stumbled, but is hauled to her feet quickly by the taller one, as he barrels forward, ripping through bushes and leaves to make a path for the others. Then the floor drops out beneath them as the hill vanishes and leaves nothing but open air, and the darkness consumed everything.

**.:KK:.**

_**Three Weeks Earlier**_

"Blaine! Stop tha – augh!"

Kurt Hummel abruptly lost his train of thought as Blaine's talented mouth attacked his neck, leaving kisses and goosebumps trailing down the smooth column. He jerked, eyes rolling back in his head as he fisted the curling hair, now free from the gel, and suppressed a loud groan when a tongue ran around the juncture between his shoulder and collarbone. The causer of such pleasure paused, and looked up, a large smile forming as he took in the flushed face and watering eyes, before gently pushing up the rumpled white shirt, and slipping his fingers beneath the fabric.

The two were currently curled up in Blaine's dorm room, as his roommate was over visiting his parents for the weekend, and so they got the place to themselves. The lead singer of the Warbler's was draped across the Countertenor, who had originally come over to help him with French, and was caught off guard when Blaine had tackled him, kissed him, and then viciously attacked all available skin. Jackets lay unattended and forgotten and the floor, along with the stacks of neatly written papers on the desk, beside the reading lamp. The sheets were crossed and tangled beneath them, and the zipper to Kurt's school trousers was partly undone, and clearly displayed the growing bulge through the black material, much to his embarrassment. His hair was mussed and all over the place because of Blaine constantly running his hair through it, as if to make sure he was still there, and his cell phone was beginning to dig painfully into his side. Blaine then continued to undo the rest of the buttons of the shirt and open the gap fully, revealing more of the toned chest. His mouth closed around a hard nipple.

"Gah!" God, it was really hard to try and keep it down now, especially with the way Blaine was using his tongue– "Sto-o-op ah!"

The brunette ignored him completely, trailing his fingers further and further down, before slipping down the waistband of the pants, fingering the hem of the satin boxers. Kurt froze, and tried again to speak, but a bite on his chest strangled his words, until they became no more than undistinguishable croaks. An embarrassingly loud moan forced its way from his throat, and he felt himself turn bright red as a result. Meanwhile the hand was slithering beneath the slippery material, and journeying dangerously close towards the area that _should not be named,_ as far as Kurt was concerned.

Being a virgin, and a still very inexperienced one at that, he was having difficulty letting it go on any further. Not that he didn't love Blaine, because _obviously_ he did, or they never would have kissed in the first place, let alone being in this situation, incredibly awkward as it was. He supposed that the reason he was having trouble lying still and not flinching was because every time the tongue lapped up a little bit more of his flawless skin, he could almost imagine the sweaty smell of Karofsky hovering close by, constantly watching, always waiting, until he let down his guard. This thought almost completely destroyed the mood for him, and he was so caught up in keeping the goofy smile on his face, that he almost didn't notice the way Blaine began to, very gently, tug off his trousers.

Without meaning to, a strong wrist flicked out and grabbed the hand that was fiddling with his belt buckle, forcing his boyfriend to look up, confusion clearly showing in his eyes. This, if possible, made Kurt flush even redder, and he had to look away.

"What's wrong?" The voice was hushed and deep, and the tone sent shivers up his spine, but he hastily shoved those thoughts down, and instead pushed himself up on his elbows. Blaine sat up completely, and inspected his face, perhaps looking for a hidden injury or self-doubt, brows furrowed, clearly worried.

"I…" God, why did his voice sound so damn croaky: like he'd just sung defying gravity six hundred times underwater. He willed the colour in his cheeks to disappear. "I don't think I'm ready." He took a short, sharp breath. "For… for . I mean, I will be. I only just got the pamphlets, and it was really awkward with my dad, so no surprises there, I just haven't really gotten ready, and I don't want to…" Oh no, he was rambling again, and Blaine probably thought he was an idiot, but he couldn't stop his mouth from moving, somehow on its own. "And man, I've totally ruined the mood and crap buggery don't break up with me over this and I –"

A firm finger pressed against his lips cut him off, and he turned to look into a pair of deep, hazel eyes. "I understand," Blaine said, moving forward so that they were completely face to face. "I get it, and if you felt uncomfortable, you should have _just told me._"

He stood up, stretched, and then picked his jacket up off the floor, along with Kurt's, then grinned. At this point, the countertenor wasn't sure whether he was just being incredibly understanding or hiding his disappointment, because according to the pamphlets, people of the male gender thirsted and fed upon any kind of sexual involvement with another, and he had just spectacularly screwed that one up completely. After a moment's pause, he stood as well, averting his eyes and buttoning up his shirt, trying to smooth out as many wrinkles as possible. Maybe, if he just whirled around, grabbed him and kissed –

"Kurt?" He jerked and shook himself, forcefully pulling away from his train of thought and back into reality, where Bernadette was staring up at him with large, brown eyes.

He was sitting on the bus, with the woman and her companion; a tall, suited man with an orange scarf around his neck, looking at him expectantly, with a small pile of pamphlets resting in his lap. Neither of them, he noticed, still semi-conscious, had ever really been taught the correct attire to wear in order to please and audience, as the scarf clashed harshly with his trousers, and the woman's beret was badly out of place with her velvet dress. In other words, they both looked as though they had walked out of a charity store, wearing the only clothes they could find from the discount clothes bin. Kurt blinked, and pulled the earphones from his ears, and cutting off Poker Face mid bridge. He tried to place a pleasant smile on his face, because he had no doubt that they were a little put off that he almost fallen asleep while they were talking to him. Then again, yesterday he had pulled another all nighter, and it was starting to show: hence the unappealing bags below his eyes.

That, and the overwhelming amount of enthusiasm the woman had was really starting to get on his nerves. It was also beginning to freak him out slightly, because no one in their right mind would smile for that long and that hard without giving up. And her eyes were hard too, and didn't match the rest of her facial expression.

"You're going to be fine," Bernadette said, clearly repeating herself from something explained previously. Kurt squashed down the feeling of guilt that followed the thought. "You'll attend weekly sessions, and by the end, you'll emerge as a far more confident, brighter person."

He nodded in agreement, and watched as they both moved away, but not before the man sent him a gaze that could almost have been disgust, but it passed on so quickly that he couldn't be sure, and tried to convince himself that it was his imagination.

"Kurt?" He turned, and saw Brittany leaning across the aisle, her face only a couple of inches from his own. He blinked, and she blinked right back, before giving him a big toothy smile. "What's wrong, dolphin?"

He shook his head, and smiled back. "Nothing, boo. Nothing."

Brittany relaxed almost immediately, but then leaned forward, so that their noses were practically touching, and her sweet breath fanned out over his face. "You can't tell anyone," she whispered, "but I think that the nice bus driver is secretly my cat."

Kurt blinked, and frowned, and the blond cheerleader nodded wisely, tapping her cheek.

"He was looking at me strangely." She said, in the same hushed tone, and this caused Kurt to automatically begin to stand, to better see what the supposed Cat-Man looked like: he hadn't really paid attention on the way in. Brittany grabbed his arm and shook her head. "Don't," she whispered, by way of answer to his raised eyebrow, "or he'll turn you into an enchanted dolphin, dolphin. He's been reading my diary again."

When he sat back down, and made no further attempt at moving, she sat back in her seat and began to fiddle around with her iPhone. He didn't bother to try and reply, as used to her antics as anyone, but this didn't stop him from inching forward in his seat anyway, to peer around the one in front of him, to see the back of the man's cap. He must've been in his late forties or so, because there was barely any visible hair through his hat or down towards his neck. Granted, Kurt couldn't even remember his face, let alone what his expression was when they had first boarded the bus to begin with. When he saw Santana looking at him, past Brittany, he frowned, put on his Bitch face and looked out the window instead. He had had far too much on his mind, and the small bulge in his jeans was the proof of the realism of his thoughts about his… boyfriend? He frowned. The word didn't roll through his mind the way he liked, and always caught up one place or another: he was having difficulty coming to terms with the fact that Blaine was actually _going out with him. _

Kurt supposed that's where the whole thing had started off. With Blaine, alone, partially naked, in the Dalton boarder rooms, with mouths locked and _shit_. He instantly tried to imagine Rachel Berry in a coconut bra and hula skirt to calm down his growing problem down south, and then took several deep, deep breaths, and started up Telephone. So yes, with Blaine, and his severely lacking confidence in the sex department, and how he had totally ruined the whole thing for the both of them, and he couldn't talk to anyone about it. Sure, Finn had told him once that they could discuss problems whenever they felt like it, but Kurt figured that that would be stretching his step-brother's loyalties a little too far. That, and he might faint, or throw up, or back away very slowly, or curl up into a little ball on the kitchen counter and begin rocking back and forth.

That whole awkward thing had led up to an interrogation by Mercedes and Tina, which only served to heighten his embarrassment about the whole situation, because Mercedes must've told Santana or Brittany, because then somehow, in a horrible, twist of fate, Carol found out about his sexual experiences and, after talking to him about it, explained the whole thing to Burt. Kurt had had to endure a second ride down to the clinic for more pamphlets, and had then hidden in his room for about six hours hiding beneath his bed, and twitching any time someone walked past his door.

Then, to top it all off, both of the recently discovered lesbian cheerleaders had popped over, and he had spent ages discussing _their _difficulties coming to terms with sexuality instead of his own, which really had been uncomfortable. Santana had kept mouthing him off every five minutes, and he discovered later that Brittany had been drawing rainbow hearts on the bottom of his drawer, rather than fiddling around with his carpet, as he thought she had been doing. To the best of Kurt's knowledge, the three of them had been up all night talking about it, which made him thank Bruce Almighty that it was Saturday the next day, though it had nearly given Carole a heart attack, when she came to walk him up the next morning. For a woman of her age, her heart seemed to be in excellent condition, considering how loudly she gasped in surprise.

His phone had received several texts from Blaine, all asking what was happening, and all of which he replied as: GIRL PROBLEMS. THEY ALL NEED ASSISSTANCE. CAN'T TALK. His boyfriend didn't reply after the sixth one, so he must have been caught up in something else. That fleeting thought quickly passed, when he discovered that both Burt and Carole had also been talking: with Santana and Brittany's parents. All about school, and difficulties, and peer pressure, and while Kurt was sure that the pair's parents didn't know that they had the hots for each other, they must have figured something was going on for them to hang out with a gay guy, at his house, without being held against their will.

Somehow, the whole thing had blown up, to where all the parents seemed to have joined forces with each other, and pulled everyone out of school, namely Santana and Brittany, then Kurt. From the middle of Warblers practise. Then bada bing bada boom, and off they were, on a bus to some counselling session in the middle of nowhere.

Well, several hours from Lima, at least, and they had apparently been offering places to people at McKinley or at outside schools, and it was clearly wealthy enough to own its own bus, no matter how small. His parents had managed to convince not only Finn, but also his headmaster, that sending him to a place which helped to "develop people into their true persons" would be a great idea. Kurt knew for a fact that the main reason that they were sending him, was because everyone was still worried that the Karofsky incident was still getting to him, which it was, as much as he was trying to hide it. So far, they'd only met three: Cat-Man up the front, then Bernadette, who was one of the head psychologists, and then Paul, the guy with the bad taste in scarves. Not a good trio, but since he was in a vehicle with nothing more than a couple of rows of plastic coated seats, and his suitcase propping up his legs, he knew he had very little choice.

To the best of his knowledge, it was Lively House, or something along those lines. That's supposedly what it was called, even though Kurt had no recollection of ever hearing the name before, despite its proximity to Lima. He'd seen the brochure: rolling plains, creek, bushland, very remote, and the perfect place to really "get in touch with nature, with no mundane devices to keep one's mind occupied from becoming a pure being." Whatever that meant. But if they tried to take his clothes or his moisturises away from him, there would be blood. And not his own. He had a two hour, twelve part routine that needed to be fulfilled, and no magical hocus pocus mumbo jumbo could destroy that.

He had already made perfectly sure that it wasn't Catholic. Or Jewish, or Islamic, or Anglican, or anything religious that would seriously dampen his whole perspective of the place. He had also done it for Brittany, really, because as soon as he had asked, she had hid behind her mother, because she thought the "evil dwarf" was going to come after her and take her dolphin away. Kurt then found himself in a near strangle hold, and it was a solid hour before Bernadette managed to completely reassure her that they believed in peace and happiness brought through calming and thinking exercises, over Holy Books and God. This made him feel slightly better, but increased his confusion as to why people like this would be running a camp like this to begin with.

Oh yes. Because they had also classified it as a _camp_, too. He wasn't sure what kind, but he could only assume the bunk bed and cabin sort, from a look at the pamphlets, so he could hardly imagine the bathrooms to be anything better than something found in the Middle Ages, possibly earlier. He didn't like camping, never had like camping, and probably never would like camping. Ever. Kurt was almost certain that when the word "camp" had crossed Paul's lips, Burt had looked almost apologetic. That did nothing to help his case though, and the only assistance Carol had been, was packing him an extra pair of socks.

Kurt sighed, and rested his forehead against the cool glass of the window, letting his eyes linger briefly on blurred objects as they roared past: trees, a fallen log, a pile of rocks, more trees, another rock, and a… person. He pushed himself flat against the window, squinting furiously, as he tried to catch a proper glimpse of the figure before they turned the corner. A small one, who looked like a boy, was standing close to a small bed of flowers, and his pale eyes watched as the bus roared past. In a flash, he was gone, in the amount of time it took Kurt to blink, and he was left frowning furiously, before pondering the state of his eyesight.

He turned away from the window, rubbing his temples and squeezing his eyes shut, suddenly feeling nauseated by the jolting movement of the bus, and the sound of hushed whisperings and giggles from Santana's direction. He forced one eye open, and saw Bernadette and Paul up the front, both laughing and smirking at whatever the Cat-Man had said. As if sensing a watcher, the man looked up, and their gazes met. Paul gave him a single, slow wink that sent shivers down his spine, and reminded him an awful lot of Karofsky, he realized in a single, horrible moment. Clutching his phone, the countertenor held completely still until he had turned his attention back to his companions. Kurt began to feel very ill at ease, and began wanting to call his father, or Schuester, or even Coach Sylvester, because this whole thing was starting to turn _creepy_.

Because on the rocks beside the boy, large, grey ones that were caked with dirt and earth, he was certain that he had seen text, bold and bright, scrawled across the granite surface. A crooked arrow, pointing away, and the single world live, in red liquid that Kurt doubted was crayole.

**Well tha'ss all from me for the moment.**

**-SB**


End file.
